


are the stars out tonight?

by christinaapplegay



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, Motherhood, somewhere between friendship and romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:46:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinaapplegay/pseuds/christinaapplegay
Summary: Jen and Judy talk about motherhood.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 22
Kudos: 143





	are the stars out tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> so I cannot figure out where to place this besides the little bit of time I'm assuming exists after they think things have calmed, but before the crash at the end of season 2... I dunno there's just so much going on...
> 
> anyway, the title is from the song 'I Only Have Eyes for You' by the flamingos xx

Jen was angry. 

This wasn’t new, of course. She spent most of her time sitting snug with emotions other than pleased. 

It wasn't even all the shit (the endless, endless amount of it) that had happened within the last four, five, however many months that made her angry, for _that_ was weirdly accepted, it was the fact that _it_ had been going on for years and she had never even realized. 

It was years of a marriage that she blindly branded as perfect and years of a motherhood that she was lost in that sparked the lighter. 

The fact that Charlie couldn’t stand being around her (mirroring how Ted couldn’t stand being around her, the only difference was he had to go and die) knocked the wind out of her. 

(She and Judy had talked about it, not extensively but it was discussed, how Ted’s death wasn’t Jen’s fault, how it wasn't as if Jen ever wished for such an outcome, but it still felt a twinge like it was her doing.) 

It was weeks and weeks ago that Charlie left for his grandmothers, and time had passed in an ultimately sickeningly malaise fashion until Charlie was home, safe, and things were okay. Definitely not great, but not shitty either. Not shitty seemed to be the running environment. 

She was sitting at dinner with Henry, Charlie and Judy, just trying to take a moment, feeling like they were reaching a new sense or normal. She didn't want to think about anything at all, not a single event other than undivided time with her boys and Judy.

Judy, who was having a lively conversation with Henry about wizards, and Charlie, who was pretending not to listen but was obviously tuned in, and Jen, who hadn’t eaten a single bite, only sipped her wine, maybe was even on her second glass.

And then it kind of just... struck her. And it was this nagging thought. 

Her motherhood was intact only because Ted was the father of the year. 

Henry and Charlie were so well taken care of, and by _Ted,_ Jen never had to question her place. And in knowing this, Jen honestly wondered if she was meant to be a mother. Some people just weren’t meant to be parents. Maybe she was one of them. She loved Henry and Charlie, there was no doubt there, but simply because she loved them didn’t equal killer mom. 

Ted was always there for the boys. In the ways they needed, in ways Jen hadn't considered. He intrinsically knew how to be a dad. 

Jen didn’t know how to be a mom. That was the thing. She didn’t know what motherhood _was._

She didn’t realize she was clueless in her motherhood until she saw Judy with her boys ( _our boys,_ she thought). It was as if Judy was honestly fated to be a mom.

(If it came down to it, and it nearly just had, Judy would be the one she left the boys to. It would be the right choice, and one that would piss Lorna off.)

When Jen watched Judy with the boys (and she didn’t necessarily feel jealous, she was ever in wonderment) she was in awe of her.

When she watched Judy cutting the crusts off pb&j’s for Henry, or when Judy was simply able to remember that Charlie only liked orange juice if it had pulp in it, or when she happily made breakfast exactly to their liking, started helping with homework, with math that made no fucking sense whatsoever, but did it all with a calm, loving demeanor... it beyond belief saddened Jen that being a mom was taken from Judy so many times. But still, it was as if Judy just knew what to do, what to say, exactly how to talk to Henry, exactly how to talk to Charlie, knew the differences in talking to a 9-year-old versus a 15-year-old. 

She loved that Judy was there for them, for her, for their little family after _everything._ But Jen also wanted, desperately, painstakingly, to be a mom who baked cakes just because, a mom who went on Saturday outings to the beach with a full picnic, all for no occasion in specific, a mom who knew her kids better than anyone ever could dream. 

And she knew, somewhere deep down, she could be, and she wondered if Judy would help her to be. 

Still, it was like Ted just knew. And Judy just knew. Why didn’t Jen just know? 

So Jen was angry. She was angry that her motherhood thus far was a failure and she was angry that she never even fucking realized it until her whole entire world was turned inside out and shaken, like a purse. 

She wanted Judy to know it. 

And Judy usually did know it. Judy seemed to just know. 

Jen was quiet during dinner. It wasn’t on purpose, but it was what happened. She swirled her glass of wine, giving Judy a small smile when they would make eye contact. 

If the boys asked her something, she would reply, trying for total engagement, but the feeling of motherhood that was subpar wouldn’t leave. 

Judy kept looking at her, _are you okay?_ in her eyes. 

She was good at knowing when Jen was mad, and not just because she smashed cars (or well, people, too, sometimes and only once, lay off). It was like Judy had a sixth sense for knowing when someone was broken and needed mending. 

So yeah, Jen was angry, but she knew that Judy would listen. Would even love to listen, at that. 

When they cleared the table, and when the boys were out of earshot, Jen said, “You’ve turned me into a real fuckin’ sharer,” and Judy only smiled. 

* * *

Jen sat in bed, mindlessly scrolling through her phone, waiting for Judy to be finished using the bathroom. 

They had taken to exclusively sleeping in the same bed.

It wasn’t gradual, it just happened one night. 

Jen found Judy in her respective living area and after a short _come upstairs_ then an _okay_ with a shrug they shared Jen's bed every night then on. 

(And they cuddled, and _maybe_ they kissed goodnight, once, or twice, or well, Jesus, there _was_ a third time that Jen conveniently forgot about. And whatever, it was nice. The intimacy she built with Judy was nice.)

She listened to the sink turning off, waiting eagerly for Judy to open the door and walk over to her saying what was on her mind. Judy seemed to think a lot when she was using the bathroom, always exiting with a budding thought or two to share with Jen. 

(And Jen always looked forward to it.)

“Would you ever want a dog?” 

“Uh, fuck no.” 

“No? Really?”

Judy wore her floral robe which left little to the imagination in the boob department as she seemed to have tied it loosely. Jen starred as Judy slid into bed beside her… but, respectfully. She wasn’t about to ogle the woman. 

“Dogs shed.” Jen laid back against her pillows, Judy immediately cuddling up to her. She wrapped her arms around Judy, wondering if she should actively bring up her worry or if reveling in Judy’s warmth was the way to finish the night. 

“But they love.” And she snuggled closer, her arm laying across Jen’s stomach. And Jen felt that… rush Judy gave her. Which was always inconvenient, but fun to feel after years of not. 

“I bet the boys would love a dog,” Judy said. Like she was actually trying to convince her. Like she was trying for them getting a damn dog. 

The boys probably would love a dog. “Did they say something?” 

It wouldn’t shock her if they did, but it made her question whether or not they were going to Judy, too, for their questions and answers. She didn’t hate the thought of it. 

“No,” Judy said, almost reassuringly. And Jen prayed that Judy would somehow, someway catch on to her lingering worry of failure because she really did not want to explicitly have to say she felt like her motherhood was a nonsuccess thus far. 

She would though if it came down to it. She would because she and Judy were practicing honestly. 

Jen slumped into Judy, attempting to signal she wanted to be held. 

“Think about it,” Judy said softly, her arms wrapping around Jen. 

She laid her head against Judy’s chest. If Jen were the type to stop and reflect, really examine the stitches being sewn, she would pinpoint this as a watershed moment. “We could adopt a tiny little puppy from the pound. Or, an old dog, I don’t discriminate.” 

“Oh, Judy, Jesus,” Jen said, muffled. Of course, that was the angle. “You really can’t save everyone, I promise.” 

Spite still found its way off her tongue. It was something she needed to work on. “Sorry, that was… harsh.” 

“It’s okay.” Judy began rubbing her back. Jen tensed only momentarily before realizing she actually really enjoyed it. The cliché of melting at someone’s touch was decidedly true. “But why not save a few?” 

And God, why did Judy have to be like, the sweetest fucking person? How was it even possible? How could one _not_ fall for her? The woman was charming, kind, sexy… funny… yeah, okay, she killed once (and on accident, lest we forget)... and... it was Jen's husband, yes, but... Jen _knew_ her. 

Judy saw the good in everyone even when they couldn’t. It was perhaps Jen’s favorite trait of hers, and she admired her for it. 

“Jude,” Jen sat up, realizing she was teary. She wiped at her face, beginning to feel that familiar anger that would not let her breathe. It really pissed her off that so much of her life was composed of crying. 

She faced Judy, then leaned the side of her head against the headboard, Judy following suit. Jen looked into her big brown eyes that beautiful brown bangs fell in front of and it was as if they pulled Jen’s thoughts and feelings right out of her, without explicit permission. 

“I’m a bad mom.” 

And Judy frowned, her hands as if on instinct finding Jen’s to hold, to squeeze, as if only to remind her that she was there with her. 

“Not getting your kids a dog doesn’t make you a bad mom. Makes you a dog hater, but not a bad mom.” 

“That’s not what I mean, I mean that I’m a shitty fucking mom.” 

“What? Is that what was bothering you? Because Henry and Charlie love you.” Judy was intently looking at her, and Jen almost felt Judy couldn’t tell a lie if she tried. Which, of course, was proven untrue. But, still. She looked so honest. 

“They have to,” Jen said, sniffling. Once the dam broke, there was never any going back. “They have to love me, I’m their mother. They would look like little brats if they hated me. 

I’ve just missed out on so much. I’m only involved now because Ted is dead. And it’s like everyone fucking knows that.” 

“Did someone say something?” And Judy’s concern allowed Jen the ability to continue. It felt right to share. Judy made emotions feel normal, nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Not explicitly,” Jen said, shaking her head. She huffed. “One of Henry's teachers a while back… when he got in trouble for yelling at those kids…” 

“Oh, yeah. Man, the kid’s really got chops.” Judy mimicked a biting motion as if she were a dog which made Jen laugh. Through traces of sadness, she felt a glow of warmth in her chest. 

“No, shit,” Jen said, still laughing lightly. It took a minute of really grounding herself in Judy’s loving presence, really allowing herself the safety the other woman provided her (hope she gave her, too) for her to continue. 

“She said she couldn’t get a hold of me to let me know of Henry’s behavior because they only had Ted as a contact. They didn’t even have my number. That’s like basic shit that I wasn’t even doing for my kids.” 

“Well, did you update it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Problem solved,” Judy said, “I don’t think these things make you a bad mom. Maybe a little misguided, but not _bad_.” 

"That's just one example," Jen said. She was not trying to pick a fight, but it felt like one might happen. "Charlie literally left because he couldn't stand me."

"He's 15, Jen," Judy said, "What 15-year-old boy doesn't wanna smite their mom? And he came back."

"Yeah, but the fact he felt like he needed to leave at all..." Jen said, taking a deep breath, trying to suppress any more tears. "It's like I've been asleep at the wheel."

"Jen, you can't be a watchdog," Judy said, "You love them, and they know it, and that's what matters." 

Judy was too nice. It frustrated Jen. She wished Judy would just say something rude for once. Something awful. Sometimes, she even wanted to provoke Judy to see if she had the ability to say something remotely cruel.

Even though Jen wanted to, she didn’t, and she wouldn’t, because Judy was there, holding her, comforting her, and didn’t deserve that instigation, no matter how upset Jen was. 

In Judy’s presence, she found an overpowering sense of security, one that reduced harbored anger. 

“Judy,” Jen said, huffing, sniffling, “I was hoping you would… help me.” 

“Name your price,” Judy said, and Jen smiled. “Whatever it is, I‘ll do it. I mean, we buried Steve’s body, did you forget about that?” 

“Always in my mind’s eye.”

“Oh, are you spiritual now?” 

“Nope, no,” Jen said, sharply, sitting up. “And I mean with just… just being a better mom.” 

“Duh.” Judy smiled, and widely, of course. And Jen almost, almost kissed her but refrained because the moment didn’t feel right.

(Their kisses so far had been brief and framed as goodnights, what would this one be passed off as?)

She still had questions.

“How do you just know?” 

Judy tilted her head, and Jen dreaded an explanation. “How to… make a mean whiskey sour?” Judy said, a smirk ever-present. 

“Ha, yeah.” A calm moment, a breather, was needed. Jen wiped at her eyes. “How _do_ you do it?” 

“Well, madame, maybe I can make dinner for two and share with you my magic.” 

Jen could feel… a blush coming on which was not ideal. She wasn’t one who blushed. 

“What is it that you meant?” Judy then asked. 

It was the leeway she needed. Judy’s soft voice, soft look, soft demeanor. It was a recipe for confessions. 

“How are you such a good mom?” Jen hoped it came across as praise rather than backhanded. 

“Well, I’m not a mom..." Judy shook her head and there was no way Jen was not going to say how she felt, what she had been thinking for so long when that was how their whole night was shaping up to be, full of _feelings_ and all that crap. 

“–You are, Judy.” Jen purposely fixed their eye contact. “You are.”

And Jen expected a Judy caliber hug and a kiss on the cheek, but she hadn’t expected her reply. 

“Well, to answer your question. I read a lot of parenting books. Like, new age, spiritual books about how to be one with your child. How to listen so it means something to them.” 

“Oh, God, really?” Embarrassingly, Jen never even thought about parenting books, for herself or Judy. She thought Judy to be a natural and herself to be incompetent.

“I’ve always loved kids but I wanted to have some guidance for when I had my own,” Judy said, then Jen interrupted. 

“Sorry, can – can we like…” 

“Cuddle?”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” 

And so they resumed. “Don’t look so satisfied. Keep going, I’m all ears.” 

Jen knew Judy was smiling. She was glad, she couldn’t lie. Knowing Judy wanted her, wanted to be with her, made her happy. Like, stupidly happy. 

“There’s nothing really more to the story,” Judy said, and Jen, honest to God or whoever, melted when Judy’s hands threaded through her hair. And that meant _something_ , didn’t it? 

"I just wanna say, Jen... you're not a failure. At anything, but especially at being a mom. You're wonderful." Judy said it as if was already etched in stone.

Jen squeezed her a little tighter. "Thank you."

Jen listened as Judy explained to her what being a mom meant, at least to her. She listened as Judy said how she wanted to be a mom that was there for her kids, always, a mom who was trusted, wholly, who made her kids feel safe and loved, unconditionally. And Jen wanted that too, for the boys. She hoped they felt that way already, and that both she and Judy could only continue giving that to them.

(And she wanted a variation of that for herself, and for Judy, in relation to what they had.) 

“We can do it together, you know,” Judy said, and Jen tried to nod though she was against Judy’s chest, “We can learn together.” 

She laid there with Judy, content in the quiet. It had been a long day, no different from any other, just as tedious, but it was nice to just be there with her. 

There was hope, then. 

She was glad to have a partner. She wasn’t parenting alone, and with someone she loved, someone her boys loved.

It was relieving. 

It wasn’t resolved, not completely, and she would probably get angry about it again, and feel guilty about it again, and feel clueless about what she as a mom was and was not doing again. 

But Judy would help her, and she would help Judy.

Judy would be there. Which, after all, was why all of this shit happened in the first place.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! ♡


End file.
